


Purgatory

by suspiciousteapot



Series: Imagine Claire and Jamie ficlets [3]
Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, ghost au, or canon continuation, well I suppose there's major character death in that it's from Ghost!Jamie's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 16:07:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5254685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suspiciousteapot/pseuds/suspiciousteapot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anonymous asked: what if because claire's in the future jamie as a ghost got to see her grow up or see bits and pieces of her life</p>
            </blockquote>





	Purgatory

**Author's Note:**

> Response to a prompt sent to imagineclaireandjamie on tumblr.

He had known since she’d told him the truth of where she was from that he would end up in purgatory, waiting for her. Had later dreaded the day they would once more be parted, fearing he could not bear the centuries he would have to wait, having known what it was to be without her for even a couple of decades. Yet he had waited, waited through a world empty of her presence, and then watched as she’d grown from a bonny babe to the beautiful, sharp-minded woman he ached for.

-*-

He had wanted to hold her in his arms as the man who called himself a ‘police officer’ explained that she would never see her parents again and she stared up at him, uncomprehending, her large, gold eyes full of confusion and fear.

-*-

He had scoffed as her uncle drove her up a winding driveway to a vine-covered building outside of which lasses in blue dresses ranging from chubby-faced weans to gawky teenagers played and talked. Had he known nothing of her childhood and youth he could have predicted the outcome of this situation with perfect certainty. 

 

Even at such a young age, there was no arguing with the gleam of steel in her eyes and the stubborn set of her chin as she clung unrelentingly to the handle of the car door. Quentin Lambert Beauchamp could do no more than sigh in defeat.

-*-

He had watched in fascination, frustration, and jealousy as she learned in rapid succession of infatuation, lust, and love. 

 

“Egyptian, clearly. I’d say, 10th century, B.C.” 

She jumped a bit at his words. She’d been alone, caught up in the examination of a fragment of pottery. 

She smiled at him, and self-consciously touched her hair – unusually subdued and smelling of strange flowers. 

“Very astute of you. Are you one of uncle’s students?” 

“A consulting colleague, actually.” 

He removed his hat, smiling sheepishly, “terribly impolitely of me not to have introduced myself – Frank Randall” 

She took his proffered hand lightly in hers, “Claire Beauchamp.”

-*-

He had looked on in anger as the Englishman stopped her outside an austere building on a cold, rainy day and asked her to be his wife. 

The man wanted them to marry in a law-house? Had he put no thought into the matter despite being promised to her for almost half a year? And would he not even ask her if she wanted this, when she was so clearly unsure of it? Yet she was so happy, so excited to be with him, that she accepted in spite of any qualms she may have had. Mrs. Frank Randall. 

There had been nothing he could say or do beyond watching them jog over and fade into the shadows of the future. 

-*-

He had waited tensely through the unrelenting horror of war. Watched as it had parted her from the only family she knew, as it took her uncle and so many of those around her. Watched as it had hardened her, but never took away her hope. Watched as it had showed her her own strength and destiny. 

 

She had been awake for almost two days, though he doubted that she knew it. The street of medical tents was busier than a beehive. Battered and bloodied soldiers instantly replaced those just fixed or deceased. Claire had blood streaked up her apron and neck, and her curls frizzed out of their tight, tied-back state. A doctor found his way over to her as she stopped the bleeding in a man’s leg. 

“I’ve got it, Nurse.” 

She walked slowly into the street, it too a chaos of bodies, yet this was this was a different chaos. It was the jubilant mayhem that accompanied mass euphoria. The war was over. 

 

Though he had known it would happen, he had still thanked the Lord she’d survived it.

-*-

He had watched in sorrow and awe as their beautiful daughter was born.  
It had broken him to see Claire, so scared and exhausted, with only strangers there to guide her through the whole terrifying, painful and lengthy affair. He had wished then more than ever that he could hold her, let her know he would not leave her alone for this. And yet he had left her to endure this alone. 

 

“Congratulations, you have a beautiful wee lass!” 

It was clear Claire barely registered the nurse’s words. Nobody existed in her world save herself and the bairn. And him. He saw himself reflected in her tears as she stroked the fuzzy red head that poked out of the blanket, and stared into their daughter’s big blue eyes. 

“Thank you.”

-*-

He had brimmed with pride as she walked up the stairs to the hospital, head held high. 

 

The whispered jokes of her male colleagues were unable to dissuade her, clothed as she was in that same steely stubbornness that had only grown stronger with age. 

Her patients looked to her in their moment of greatest need. He could have told them himself that they could not be in better hands.

-*-

He had seen her run her fingers over his ring thousands of times, drawing strength from the cold metal that was one of the three physical assurances that he’d existed. He had wished every time that she would take it off see the message inside – no matter the initial pain, at least she could have the comfort of the memories it would hold, safe against her skin. 

 

She stood transfixed, white as a sheet, staring at the small words carved over twenty and two hundred years before.  
He joined his voice to hers. 

“Da me basia mille.”

-*-

He felt her pain - an iron band constricting her chest and forcing the air from her lungs - as she prepared to step through the stones for the third and final time. As she held Brianna tight, her hand on the back of her daughter’s neck, supporting her head as though she were still a wee bairn. 

He wanted to call out to them; to tell them their separation would not be eternal, and was reminded that would his own separation was rapidly coming to an end. 

A thrill of excitement ran through him as Claire turned to the Stones. Soon, his waiting would be over and he would be whole for the rest of time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
